


sugar, butter, flour

by nebulousviolet



Category: The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, Gen, isabelle tries her best @ cooking, stan sizzy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:34:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23798554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nebulousviolet/pseuds/nebulousviolet
Summary: Simon wakes up to the smell of something burning.
Relationships: Simon Lewis/Isabelle Lightwood
Comments: 3
Kudos: 36





	sugar, butter, flour

**Author's Note:**

> a quick lil drabble for simon/isabelle aka the only valid het ship in tmi. honestly didn’t know i was capable of writing something with zero angst but apparently i am so that’s on character development luv x  
> title taken from waitress although i’m pretty sure pancakes don’t have butter in them idk i’m a vegan

Simon wakes up to the smell of something burning.

Isabelle isn’t next to him, either, but that’s not surprising; she’s essentially been indoctrinated into being an early riser, and while Simon wouldn’t call his usual wake-up time of 8am _late_ in any sense of the word, Isabelle is usually already dressed and knee-deep into an argument with Jace on the phone by the time Simon is fully conscious. But it’s the combination of the two - Isabelle, and the smell of _burning_ \- that worries him somewhat. Because, realistically, there’s only one explanation.

When they’d first moved in together, there’d been attempts on Simon’s part to improve Isabelle’s admittedly dire cooking skills. He’d put it down to inexperience - Maryse had never taught Isabelle to cook, and the Lightwood siblings had mostly survived off takeout and Hodge’s leftovers whenever Robert and Maryse travelled for Clave business - but after three failed cooking classes, one of which nearly ended with Simon contracting salmonella, they’d mutually agreed that Simon would bear the brunt of the culinary burden. He’d expected Isabelle to be more stubborn about it, but it was clear that she’d reached the point of self-awareness. Simon’s meals might not be as _exciting_ as Isabelle’s peanut-olive-fish soup concoctions, but at least they’re edible.

Which brings Simon back to the present. 

“Iz?” he calls, blinking the sleep from his eyes and reaching for a shirt to pull on. “You okay?”

“Go back to bed!” Isabelle demands. She doesn’t sound too panicked, but then Isabelle is remarkably skilled at not seeing danger unless she’s about three seconds away from death. There’s a four-inch vertical scar on her thigh to prove it. “I’ll be there in a second.”

“Is something burning?” Simon asks, even though he knows what the answer is. He stands, scrubs a hand through his hair, and wonders if Jace was joking when he said he hid a fire extinguisher in one of their cabinets. It sure would come in handy right about now. Isabelle’s silence is deafening. “Alright, I’m coming in.”

Isabelle makes a loud noise of protest that is promptly cut off when Simon shuffles down the corridor connecting their bedroom to the kitchen and opens the door. She’s wearing one of his t-shirts - not even an old Star Wars sleep shirt, but one of his graphic tees - and sweatpants that he’s fairly sure have done the full Lightwood circuit: he’s seen them on both Alec and Jace, although they’re only really long enough on Isabelle. In one hand is her cell phone. In the other is a frying pan with a surprisingly not-burnt pancake in it.

Simon stares at the scene before him. “What-“

“Izzy, flip the pancake,” come a crackling voice from the speaker that Simon is 90% sure belongs to Alec. “Then you can go yell at Simon.”

“I’m not going to yell at him,” Isabelle scoffs into the receiver, but does as her brother says. “I’ll call you back.”

She hangs up, and fixes Simon with a truly magnificent glare. “It was going to be a _surprise.”_

“Since when can you-“ Simon cuts himself off, and shakes his head. “Okay, but why does it smell like smoke?”

Isabelle doesn’t quite flush, but her cheeks tinge pink for the briefest of moments. “My timing was off,” she says, and jerks her chin over to the garbage. “Alec talked me through it instead. I thought I could do something nice for you.”

Simon blinks. 

“I know it hasn’t been...easy,” Isabelle elaborates, letting her gaze soften. She seems hesitant, as if she’s not sure what Simon’s reaction will be. “This, I mean. Having to lie to your mom and being separated from your sister and your friends for so long at the Academy. I probably would’ve gone insane if I hadn’t seen Alec for the better part of two years. I guess I want to make it clear how much it means to me. How much _you_ mean to me.”

Isabelle’s good at a lot of things - telling people when to take a hike, killing demons in about fifty different violent manners, matching her lipstick to her skirt to her shoes. But talking about feelings isn’t really her fortê; she gets that from both of her brothers. He knows that it’s probably killing her to talk about what she calls _mushy crap_ , but Simon can’t help the delighted grin that spreads across his face.

“Shut up,” Isabelle groans, and turns back to the frying pan, where she manages to salvage the pancake and add it to the pile on her plate.

“I didn’t say anything,” Simon says, and inches forward so he can press a kiss to her cheek. The look she fixes him with is half adoration, half irritation. “You didn’t have to do this, y’know. I already know all that. But thank you.”

“Oh, now you tell me,” Isabelle rolls her eyes dramatically, and shoves the plate at him. “I don’t even care if these taste like trash, you’re eating them.”

Simon laughs. “Love you too.”


End file.
